”How did you become interested in survival techniques, Dean?”

They were sitting on their 'couch', staring into the fire in the darkening evening. There wasn't much else to do but to talk. Dean adjusted his satchel to preserve at least some semblance of modesty, silly as it was since Cas had already seen all of him, probably all the way to his asshole while Dean was bent down for something.

Denying himself remembering the absolutely mouthwatering sight of Cas’s ass in all its glory, when the man had hauled some branches over, scooting to the camp backwards, everything in the open, Dean understood the need to fill the silence. It hadn't had the chance to turn companionable since they knew squat about each other, so he cleared his throat and started talking. It wasn't a secret.

“I started hunting with my Dad since I was old enough to hold a gun and a bow.” He picked up a stick and began drawing mindless circles in the ground. “We tried to get my younger brother into it but he wasn't interested. Not like me, I took to it like a duck to water, even built my own bow to catch small prey.”

He smiled fondly at the memory, how John had tested the give and ruffled his hair, proud and pleased.

“Then he died, and I was seventeen, and suddenly my Uncle Bobby was the legal guardian of me and my brother. He was thirteen.” This was why he kept his business his own. No one wanted to hear about this crap.

“I was angry at everything and everyone for a long time. I took off one day, just packed my bag and went hunting, solo” Dean glanced at Cas and found him looking back, serious and clearly hanging on to every word.

“So I got lost. I'm not even sure how it happened, but it was the first time I'd gone alone, and I got lost.” Dean huffed out a self-reprimanding laugh and waved his stick. “It got really fucking old after four days without nothing but some snacks and an empty bottle. When I was found, I swore I'd never be that helpless again.”

After a beat, Dean spoke again, not giving Cas the chance to ask more questions. “How about you?”

”Hmm,” Cas squinted at the fire, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Once it spread, his teeth flashed white in the darkness kept at bay only by their campfire.

”My father is a doomsday prepper. He expects God to rain His terrifying wrath upon the earth at any given moment. He even named me after an angel. I guess he kind of flipped when my mother died giving birth to me.” Cas raised a finger to Dean’s lips already opened to give the usual 'I'm sorry', and Dean froze in his tracks.

”It's okay. It's not like I knew her.” Cas's smile didn't waver and Dean shut his mouth, out of shock or what, he did not know. He knew there were goosebumps all over his skin, and he really, really wanted to touch his lips where Cas’s finger had been. So he licked them instead, intrigued by how Cas looked away almost bashfully.

”How come you're not a whackjob too?” Smooth, Winchester. ”No offense, man.”

”Ah,” Cas looked back at Dean again, the flames creating shadows on his face. ”None taken.” Cas waved a dismissive hand. ”Growing up, I was terrified. My bedtime stories were full of fire, sin and brimstone, and my schooling was about learning to take inventory and setting snares, finding fresh water and stocking up on Snickers bars...” Cas peered into the fire, evidently gathering his thoughts. ”When I learned to read, I basically camped at the library and I read everything I could get my hands on. It saved me.”

The utter honesty of that statement written on Cas's face made Dean want to hug him close. But before he could say or do anything, Cas continued; ”The books kept me sane and gave me a new outlook on life. If people were free to use their imaginations in such endlessly multiple ways, surely my father was just using his.” Cas smiled longingly. “So many people living without fear, certainly I was allowed to do the same. So I became an atheist when I was twelve.”

”You don't have to talk about it.” And Dean thought his life had been all kinds of fucked up. Not that it wasn't, but it wasn't that.

”I rarely do,” Cas gave a lopsided smile, raising his shoulder dismissively. ”People don't usually want to know these things, it springs up debate and bad blood so easily that I try to avoid it.” He straightened his back and stretched a crick out of his neck with a pop. ”But it really isn't sad. It's just my life,” Cas shrugged one shoulder. “ and where would I be if I kept thinking it was something horrible and depressing?” He clearly posed it as an actual question, blinking at Dean.

”Bottom of a bottle,” Dean replied knowingly. ”Or worse.”

There was a story behind that, and Dean wished he could take back the words. This really wasn't the kind of a situation to be commiserating about things past, not when their first night out here was wrapping blackly around them.

As if reading his mind, Cas clapped his hands and got up to stoke the flames. ”If you're ready to sleep, I'll take the first watch.” The warm smile was back, and it made Dean want to touch him. The man was so beautiful.

”Sure,” Dean laid on the cleared patch near the fire. ”I'll see you in a few hours.”

”Don't let the bed bugs bite.”

There was laughter in the voice that followed him into fitful sleep.